


The Spy Who Didn't Love Me: Cold War, Cold Heart

by fraufi666



Category: Iron Lady (2011), James Bond - Ian Fleming, Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c., Political RPF - US 20th c.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Authority Figures, Brainwashing, Cold War, Communism, Crossover, Espionage, F/M, M/M, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Violence, One-Sided Attraction, Republican, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 00:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5143766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon being assigned to another mission, James Bond spends more time with Prime Minister Thatcher. However, in the process, Thatcher starts to develop feelings she never thought she would have towards the agent. With one careless mistake and regrets, Thatcher banishes Bond from working for the British Empire. Bond leaves for the United States, where President Reagan may have taken more of a liking to him. Is it just mild flirtation, or is there more to his motives?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is a historical AU. Although I have used historical figures and some references based from real events, (e.g the Cold War, Thatcher and Reagan’s time in power) this is entirely a work of fiction. All romantic encounters, events and insinuations are from my imagination. I mean no disrespect to any of the people depicted. I am also in no way politically biased. 
> 
> This is a crossover fic inspired by Ian Fleming’s James Bond, although not based from a particular movie of his (despite the title. I do not take credit for these main concepts; except for the renditions I have written myself. I would like to thank those who have supported me and offered ideas throughout this writing process. 
> 
> What gave me the idea to write a political story with a Bond crossover was watching a scene from For Your Eyes Only where Thatcher “communicates” with Bond. It is hilarious and you may watch the scene in the link below. 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hf67SPzC3tQ

Under the cold, grey skies of London, he had finally reached 10 Downing Street. A light drizzle was starting, but fortunately the guard had let him in just before he could feel its full effects. 

 A well-dressed young woman took his coat and showed him to a seat. She blushed briefly as she took in the man's handsome features. 

 "The Prime Minister will see you in a moment…Mr Bond." 

 James Bond smiled back at the assistant. He was used to the way he had made other women feel around him and this merely added to his pride. "Thank you, my dear." 

 The assistant already scurried away before she had really had the chance to hear him. Bond sighed, glancing over at his slightly damaged Rolex watch. There was no doubt that he would need another replacement from Q. But he had to see her first. After all, she was the Prime Minister. 

 The young woman reappeared, albeit with a much calmer expression. "The Prime Minister is expecting you, Mr Bond."

 Bond stood up and followed her upstairs and through the corridors until they had reached the Prime Minister's office. The assistant was just about to go inside to alert the politician of Bond's arrival, but being a man of action he was getting too impatient. 

 "There's no need for the formalities. We're good friends." Bond said reassuringly. 

 The assistant turned around, this time with a redder flush on her cheeks "Oh…of course, Mr Bond. Come on through." And she was gone once again. 

 He strolled into the room to see a silhouette of a woman standing with her back towards him, staring out of the window. Even though he had not said anything, she had sensed his presence instantly and turned around. 

 "Ah…Mr Bond." Margaret Thatcher greeted, walking towards him to give him a firm handshake before sitting down at her desk. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

 "Likewise, Prime Minister." Bond responded with a smile. He did not even have to be told to take a seat. The agent had already sat down and was making himself at home by flicking the lighter open, holding a cigarette between his lips. 

 Thatcher looked slightly annoyed at the cigarette smoke, but not being one for frivolities, went straight into what her intentions were. "Mr Bond. On the behalf of the United Kingdom we thank you for all of your hard work. You were able to complete a mission that most agents had failed so dismally. If you keep this up, a knighthood might be in order." She flashed her trademark grin, her blue eyes sparkling. 

 Bond exhaled a long trail of cigarette smoke as he listened to her. "Thank you very much for your kind words, Prime Minister. They are much appreciated." He was not sure whether the politician was serious about a knighthood, yet the idea was still so attractive to him. It was hard to believe that even _he_ could soften the Iron Lady. He had heard the harsh words she had exchanged between her colleagues. But she seemed to treat him far better than any of them. 

 "Yet we are not completely out of the woods yet.The Russians are getting clever and they are starting to pick up on our intentions. Many of your fellow agents have been taken down by the communists, and dare I say…even brainwashed. They have been doing this through radio stations*. You must already be briefed on the details by M."

 "Yes, yes I was." Bond responded gravely. He knew that things were still far too complex, but while he was comfortable he had wanted to take advantage of his surroundings. Work could wait for another day, surely. "Prime Minister..." Bond began with a lighter tone "While I was in Russia I was so used to seeing the same drab brown coats everywhere. But I must say that it is certainly refreshing to see some nice colour in here. Blue is very becoming of you, my dear." 

 The politician's eyes widened, yet she was far too controlled to blush like the other woman "Oh, Mr Bond, save your flattery for the younger women... _really_." Even though her tone was scornful, there was a hint of a smile there. Bond felt deeply pleased that he was able to affect someone so powerful. If he were able to influence the Prime Minister, then getting to whoever it was behind the latest scheme would have be very simple.

" _Really_ , Margaret…" Bond mocked cheekily. He had shifted slightly closer to her and she could smell cigarette ash with a hint of aftershave. Thatcher frowned. 

 "I really don't like you smoking…" She said firmly, trying to divert her eyes away from him. But his eyes stayed on her, watching her, seeing through her. The way he stared merely made her feel oddly intimidated. Yet despite her discomfort, she stayed put, not wanting to show any sign of defeat. Such encounters were not unusual in her profession. She was used to men continually being close to her in the tightly packed House of Commons. 

But this one was different. Even though she was only looking at him from the corner of her eye, she realised that the rumours of Bond being popular with women might not just be mindless gossip after all.  He was quite handsome, and as a married woman, she was beginning to feel a pang of guilt for noticing that. 

"Well, would you like to perhaps try?" Bond asked slyly. He held out the still-lit cigarette in his hand, offering it to her. 

 At this suggestion, the Prime Minister glared at him. "No. I do not wish to, Mr Bond." She responded primly. Her heart was hammering rapidly in her chest and she was starting to feel cornered. She had to make an excuse to get away from him but without looking like he had won her over. _This lady's not for the turning*._ Thatcher thought furiously. 

 "I have a lot of work to do." She said quickly, glancing at her watch "I am due for another debate in fifteen minutes and I would like some time to prepare beforehand. Now if you will excuse me-" 

 Bond gave a brief smile but stood up. He had stared into her eyes once more before taking a last drag of the cigarette and placing it into the ashtray. "Good day to you, Prime Minister." The agent said smugly and then, much to her relief had left the room. He had not even given her a chance to say goodbye. 

 For the rest of the day, Thatcher was too distracted with her duties to the nation to reflect on the earlier events of the day. Once she had returned to her quarters, Denis was waiting for her with an excited grin. 

"Maggie! Big day at the office? Why don't we have a quiet evening in?" Even though she had often been far too busy for him, he was still so loyal. 

Thatcher kissed him on the cheek briefly. "I'd love to Denis, but I can't stay. I have to attend the Queen's dinner this evening. Some other time, perhaps." 

The man's eyes looked slightly sad but he still smiled. A dinner with the Queen was not something that one could turn down, let alone someone who was the Prime Minister, "I understand." 

In her bedroom, she looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. There was no way that she would go to the Queen's dinner looking so dishevelled. Her habit of late nights and early mornings was starting to show. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her hair desperately needed more hairspray. Self consciously, she applied her make up heavily, choosing the best lipstick she could from her collection. Smoothing down her turquoise dress, Thatcher examined her reflection once more. 

_This will do._ She thought to herself. This will do. 


	2. Chapter 2

"The Prime Minister has arrived, Your Majesty…"

Queen Elizabeth II frowned at her assistant through the reflection of the mirror of her dressing table. "Does that woman even have any concept of time?" She asked with a scoff, as if a teacher speaking about a disruptive student than about the Prime Minister "Make her wait. She's far too early." 

"Certainly, Your Majesty."

Finally, after much fussing, the Queen was dressed and had finally let in all her guests. Thatcher was walking in front of proudly, with a smile that was contagious. The smile did not even waver as she spotted the monarch. 

"Your Majesty…" Thatcher greeted, her tone slightly mocking.  

"Prime Minister." The Queen responded icily. She was preparing herself for in case the politician had wanted to debate until she had spotted another important guest behind her. 

"Mr Bond!"  

Her heart almost stopped. Thatcher spun around, the smile nowhere to be seen. Sure enough, the agent that she was sure she had forgotten about was standing there, his arm linked with a very attractive blonde woman. 

_What the devil is he doing here?_  She thought in disgust. Suddenly she was starting to feel a chill. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders tighter. Perhaps if she went to speak to the other guests it would be better, but just before she could escape, Bond had spotted her. 

"Prime Minister!" He exclaimed in delight. The attractive blonde was also staring at her. "I hope you are not too swamped with work." 

"All is well, Mr Bond." Thatcher responded calmly, although she was feeling anything but. "I must go, excuse me." Quickly, she slipped further into the crowd, plastering a smile for all her admirers. It was bad enough to see Bond and remember the embarrassment and intimidation that she had felt during their encounter, but it was even worse to spot a younger woman beside him. It was almost the same feeling of envy that she had felt whenever Denis was speaking to another woman but she tried to ignore it. She was married and there was no way that she would go with a secret agent. Despite being one of the most powerful people in the world, it felt like he was out of her league. 

Once she had spoken to some of the Queen's guests, she was feeling more at ease. She had almost laughed at her own panic a moment ago. Bond was not going to affect her this strongly.  

"Prime Minister," The Queen asked, stopping Thatcher in her tracks "We were just about to have dinner. I highly suggest you to take a seat next to Mr Bond. That way, you can discuss work together."  

Thatcher dismissed her with a laugh "Your Majesty. You must know that the Prime Minister is entitled to sit wherever she pleases." 

But the Queen was in no mood for humour, "Margaret…while you are in my home, you are entitled to follow all instructions. Now don't be difficult." 

_That blasted woman!_ Thatcher cursed inwardly. She glared at the Queen as she moved to the head of the table. It was as if she was trying to make her miserable. She decided that once she was back in Westminster, she was going to exclude that woman from all Parliamentary decisions. _I will make you suffer just as much as you made me suffer, Elizabeth. Mark my words._

Reluctantly, Thatcher took her seat, choosing to make eye contact with the people sitting opposite. But as soon as Bond and his partner sat down next to her, she was feeling less confident. 

To her relief, Bond had not even bothered to glance in her direction. He was busy flirting with the blonde beside him. She tried not to stare at them for too long. It was wrong of her to even feel as envious as she did when she watched him. The woman was giggling as Bond spoke to her, all eyes on her as he offered her a cigarette. Thatcher shuddered as she remembered that same hand offering her a cigarette and her own refusal…. the ruggedly handsome features and the strong masculine scent of aftershave and cigarettes as he lingered close to her, close enough to touch her.  

Thatcher managed to stop the thought as soon as a waiter placed a dish in front of her. She ate slowly, trying to stall so that she would not have to end up in the same room as Bond. She felt foolish. It made no sense as to why this agent would make her so terrified when really she was far more powerful than him. Even though she had tried to ignore him and speak to the other guests, he still remained there at the corner of her eye, smiling and eyeing her as he ran a hand down the other woman's back. She shivered as if he had touched her back. 

"Well, I really must be going." Bond said suddenly, standing up from the table. "Your Majesty…thank you for the splendid evening." The other guests smiled at him, almost with the same admiration as they had smiled at Thatcher. The Queen looked slightly disappointed. 

"Oh…you can't stay?" The monarch asked. 

_Just let the poor man go._ Thatcher thought angrily. Even though the night was still young, she felt as if she had overstayed her welcome. She hated the way Bond had made her feel and no matter how hard she had tried to ignore him, he was still there.  

"I'm sorry, but I have a lot of work to do." Bond apologised, although both the monarch and Prime Minister knew that he was lying. His hand was still on the blonde's back even as he walked towards the Queen and kissed her hand in courtesy. A few of the women sitting at the table swooned instantly.  

Ridiculous. It was all ridiculous. A man who had basically lived his whole life in deceit was making all other women fall for his image. Thatcher felt disgusted, yet still she could not ignore the way her heart rate quickened as she watched him. 

With a slight smile at the confused politician, he departed. 

_Good riddance to that_ , she thought. But sadly, she was nowhere near free of him yet. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Like a horrible nuisance, Bond lingered. Even though he had not visited her in a while, Thatcher could not get the secret agent out of her mind. By day, he pursued her waking thoughts and at night, she could not rid herself of that glimmering gaze of his, the cigarette breath still so vivid as if he was standing right in front of her. 

Thatcher woke up with a start. The digital clock flashed the early digits back at her. 4:27. 

But there was no way for the Iron Lady to sleep now. She had plenty to do. Upon dreaming of Bond, she remembered that the man was going to meet with her once again. She had recently received word that Bond figured out a plan to track down the Russians and wanted to see her before he embarked on his mission. 

Slightly groggy from sleep, she splashed some water on her face and gazed back at her dripping features. Without her makeup on and her hair in disarray, she had felt far from the Iron Lady that everyone knew her as. Self consciously, she peered at her hair, noticing a few grey strands were starting to creep in. As she did so, an image briefly flashed into her mind. 

_The masculine, tanned hand sat on a woman's shoulder, tracing under the blonde strands. It was that woman from the party._

She remembered feeling uncomfortable as she watched them together. What was it? Her hand traced through her own hair examining it closely. What did that woman have that she did not have? She was far more powerful than that young woman. There was no need to feel intimidated. 

 Suddenly, a small smile appeared on her lips and she realised what she could do now. 

 

Early the next day, Thatcher walked into the office early. It surprised her that Bond was waiting outside her door promptly. As soon as he saw her, his eyes widened. Then, the secret agent smiled at her approvingly. She felt her heart flutter. He had noticed. 

"Well. You certainly suit blonde very nicely, Prime Minister." He purred. 

It took much self-control to stop herself from gasping.

"Oh, thank you Mr Bond." Thatcher responded coolly, hiding her emotions expertly. With the compliment, she had felt more at ease, as if it had given her a suit of armour. She felt more confident now. More like herself, if not better. 

There was a silence as their eyes locked. But Thatcher was quick to turn away. "Now, you said you had a plan." She started, getting straight to the point. "What is it?"

Bond smiled smugly "I haven't decided yet."

The politician's face fell. "What do you mean, you haven't decided?"

Slowly, Bond reached into his jacket. With his pistol at the ready, he traced his hand over the walls until finally he reached behind a portrait. Beneath it, was a flickering red light. 

"Get DOWN!" Bond shouted immediately, pushing Thatcher to the floor. 

Glass shattered as a bullet narrowly missed Thatcher, hitting the wall next to her head. On the floor Prime Minister was shaking, broken glass scattered around her, realising that she was so close to her death. 

Back against the bookshelf, Bond leapt out and fired a few shots at the perpetrator outside. With a struggle, Bond dodged the bullets of the attacker and then fired a few more. He had finally hit the man square in the head.

A silhouette of a hit man on the balcony opposite fell to his death.       

Quickly, Bond turned back to the Prime Minister, who was still trying to process what had just happened to her. He helped her to her feet without a single protest. 

"Are you alright, Prime Minister?" Bond asked in concern. His warm arms were around her, trying to consol her. Thatcher could not say a word. Only a moment ago, it was a matter of life and death. But now, now she was in his arms once more. Without thinking, her hands clenched at his coat, face buried in his shoulder. She could feel the man's body heat as she hopelessly clung to him, as a drowning swimmer would cling to a buoy. Bond waited for her to speak, but realising how traumatised she was, addressed her silence in understanding. 

"You're safe now, Prime Minister. I've got you." 


	4. Chapter 4

Due to security matters, Thatcher had to stay at a hotel in case another assailant was lurking around. Never, did she expect there to be an attempt at her life but at least now she was in safe hands. Yet it did irritate her slightly that she could not go out and attend any more meetings. Despite needing to ring the rest of her staff to let them know what had happened to her, Bond advised against it, knowing that somewhere a Russian would be listening to her phone conversations. 

Around Britain, everyone was puzzled with where the Prime Minister had vanished. There was some word that there was an attempted assassination, but whether or not Thatcher was in safe hands was unknown. Panic filled the front page as the threat of the communists drew closer. 

"But we have to do something!" Thatcher cried, waving the morning newspaper at Bond. Bond scoffed at the title. _Prime Minister: Kidnapped by Communists._ But she did not find this at all amusing.  

"Bond, this nation is at stake! I can't just leave without any word. They'll think I'm dead! It's bloody ridiculous, that's what it is."

The secret agent narrowed his eyes in a smirk "Now Margaret…" he purred mockingly "That's no way for a lady to speak. Especially one of _your_ calibre. We've been over this many times. If you send even one dot of Morse code, the Russians will be at your doorstep before the second hand on the Big Ben can barge." 

"Who is going to run the nation then?!" She asked fiercely, before fury began to take hold as she thought of the monarch replacing her, "Certainly not Her Majesty!" 

Bond chuckled, leaning in close "Margaret…sometimes you need to let others take charge."

"Prime Minister to you!" She snapped, irritated to be spoken down to in such a way. But then her eyes softened in sadness "At least, let me speak to Denis…" she pleaded. Thatcher knew that her husband would be worried sick, although the twins probably would not care. " _Please_ , Bond."

A hand lay on her shoulder gently, causing her to flinch. He gazed deeply into her eyes "You know I can't do that. It's against protocol. You of all people should know this. Why, you were one of the people who helped make the rules!" 

Thatcher pulled away, too distressed and overwhelmed by emotion.  He was still watching her closely and she could feel herself crack under his gaze. "Just…leave me alone." She sighed. "I need time to think.

Bond placed a hand on hers, smiling with charm to her dismay before departing. "Certainly, Prime Minister." 

 

Before dinner, Thatcher sat at a dressing table, applying her makeup. Even though Bond was no longer in the room, she could still feel his presence, and that scent of aftershave lingered, despite drowning it in perfume. Her heart pounded weakly as she remembered those mysterious eyes upon her, and the way he had protected her from harm's way. As she tried to do her lipstick, her hand shook, and she realised that she was feeling far more than just gratitude. It was love. 

She had taken out a handkerchief to blot her lipstick, but upon recalling such feelings, she instead envisioned the creases as the lips of the secret agent. Nobody was in the room, as she, feeling brave, leaned close to the makeshift lips and kissed. 

There was no shame in it, not at that moment. The kiss had felt so right. Her heart was slowing down in pace gradually as she tried again, this time, one full of passion. She could picture Bond gazing back at her as she traced a hand against his coarse features, kissing him again with much force. Oh and how good it felt. It was like the real thing, and everything seemed so calm. Her mind was clearer and she smiled to herself. 

Suddenly, a knock at the door jolted her back in reality. 

"Prime Minister…your dinner is ready." A voice called. 

Quickly, she threw the handkerchief into the bin before reapplying her lipstick in haste*. She looked back at her reflection, seeing the Iron Lady smile back at her confidently. 

"I'm on my way." She said in determination. 

 

Bond was sitting at the table, dressed sharply in a tuxedo. Thatcher sat down in front of him, to which he smiled to politely. "Good evening Prime Minister. I've seen that you look more at ease." 

"Yes, thank you." She responded shortly, looking at the menu "Now..." She began, ready to think about what to order.

"If you excuse me…" Bond responded, taking the menu from her "I will decide what to order for us." 

Thatcher looked back at him with disgust, but being so astonished, could not utter another word. 

"Sir…" Bond called out to the waiter "May I have a martini? Shaken, not stirred. And the lady will have a champ-"

"A scotch for me, thank you." Thatcher interrupted "And it's _Prime Minister_ to you." 

The waiter looked at Thatcher in awe, only now recognising who she was "Certainly, Prime Minister." He quickly scampered off to serve them. 

Hours later, Thatcher was sobbing into her glass. Bond had rested a hand on hers to comfort her. All of the alcohol had shredded every bit of self-control that she had maintained so carefully throughout her day. 

"Oh they call me such dreadful things! First, it was 'The grocer's daughter'. Then, they called me 'Thatcher the milk snatcher'! But you see I had to remove the free school milk! Someone has to pay the farmers! These bloody socialists seem to think that pennies just fall out of the sky*! They don't want tax, but they want everything for free!" She shook as she wailed, clasping another hand onto Bond's. "Why do they treat me with such disdain?"

"Margaret…let's take you back to your room." Bond said soothingly, helping her to her feet. "We don't want to create another scandal."

"Why? Is someone else here?!" Thatcher asked in paranoia. But she couldn't see anyone else in sight. It was far too late. Yet there was also a chance that the alcohol was making it harder to see. "And I can help myself!" Thatcher cried out in drunken defiance, wobbling back to the room. Bond followed closely after her to make sure that she didn't fall over. Then, Bond took her into her room and helped remove her shoes before assisting her onto the bed. Everything seemed to be a blur, except for the tanned, masculine hands that gently tucked her in. She looked up to see the secret agent smiling at her and thought of Denis again. Her heart sank and she felt so lonely and far away. There was no telling how long she was going to have to lie low. But she needed someone…she needed intimacy. And he was right there, helping her while the whole of Britain hated her.  

"Denis…" Thatcher whispered, reaching out to him. In the dark and the haze of intoxication, the man could have been him. And whether or not it was he, it did not matter. She wanted him.  

She clasped Bond's jaw in defiance as she pulled him towards her. Their lips met as she kissed him with the same force as she had done hours before. For a moment, it seemed as if he had surrendered to her, but he pulled away. 

"Margaret, I can't do this." Bond said sternly, glaring down on her. 

In that moment, everything had become so clear. Her cheeks burned in humiliation and the way he looked down at her merely reminded her of the way those people had looked down at her in the store when she was young. 

_That grocer's daughter… what does she know about politics?_

She stopped, gazing back at him in horror. No. If this was how she was to be embarrassed, she did not want it. If she was to go down, at least she had to decide how it should be done. His protection to her was no longer endearing it was embarrassing. She had managed to get along well without him and would continue to do so. 

"If you can't do this, then why are you here?" Thatcher immediately snapped "Go on, get out! I no longer want you here any more!"

Bond looked puzzled, "Margaret, you don't mean that..."

"I never say what I don't mean." Thatcher responded coldly. There was not a trace of charm in those eyes. She no longer felt anything for him anymore. "Get out! And I mean that. You are no longer to work for the United Kingdom anymore. We can fend off the Russians without you."

When the secret agent wouldn't move, Thatcher was on her feet, standing at her full height, jabbing a finger into his chest. Even though she was shorter than him, he felt somewhat intimidated "Go on! Scat! And if you ever, ever return back to Britain, I'll make sure you get fired! You'll never be working for Her Majesty again, or the United Kingdom! Not on my dead body! Leave at once!" 

Bond stubbornly watched on, trying to make her change her mind, but she had just reached for a vase that was sitting on the bedside table and raised it over her head. With one terrific throw, she directed it towards him, but he managed to run out of the way. 

 

The vase was shattered and destroyed completely. Just like his connection to Britain. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

He sat in the waiting room, feeling impatient for sitting for so long. A man of action should never have to wait. But with some luck, an attractive young woman with fiery red hair told him that the president was ready to see him. 

Bond smiled at the woman, causing her to blush before making it into the Oval Office. Ronald Reagan quickly stood up as he saw the secret agent, shaking his hand roughly and ushering him to take a seat. 

"So pleased to see you! So what's up? Maggie needing our help too?" 

The secret agent chuckled. "Oh no, Mr President. I am here of my own accord. The Prime Minister no longer needs my services."

"Awww." Reagan drawled in sympathy, although the smile on his face show that he did not at all feel sorry for Bond's situation. "Sorry to hear that. Well pal, I must say this is a surprise you coming here to join our forces, but I guess we'd practically be brothers." He reached for a jellybean from a glass bowl in front of him and chewed thoughtfully "Well you're always welcome here you know." 

After waiting for such a long time earlier on, Bond was getting tired of all the small talk. "The Russians, Mr President. We need to find them before they do more damage." He lowered his voice "They were already after the Prime Minister. You might be next so it is crucial that we act now. 

Reagan raised a hand as if to silence him "Aw come on, Mr Bond. James? Can I call you that? James, please…take a jelly bean." He held the glass bowl in front of him. 

"Mr President…this is a matter of life and death. The wider public does not know of Mrs Thatcher's whereabouts. She is presumed dead, for the time being. You are possibly their next target. We must be on the look out for these people."

The president looked slightly alarmed but was still calm. He patted the British man on the shoulder "Please, call me Ronnie. Now, James. I have my good men here that are specifically trained for this kind of thing! They are always on the lookout. Those Russians don't know what is coming to them. We are always a step forward." 

He leaned back in his chair before continuing, "Our armed forces, both the police and the military, are scouring for any sign of the Reds. We've closed off the borders so that it is impossible for them to come in."

"The Russians may not be able to enter physically but they have been able to influence psychologically. They have intercepted the radios-"

"Oh James. I'm ready to drop. You wouldn't mind if I crash for a bit?" 

Bond wanted to speak but was sure that the president wouldn't listen if he did. "Certainly." He responded with reluctance. Feeling disappointed and unaccomplished, he left the president alone.

The next day Bond tried to meet with Reagan again. As usual, the president insisted on sitting in his favourite chair and took a handful of jellybeans. If he had it his way, he would have knocked the beans out of his hand, but he decided not to cause any trouble.

"Mr President…you must understand that the Russians still have a way of getting through to the radio stations. You must warn the people before any more can be recruited."

Reagan turned to face Bond properly. There was a kind smile on his aged face. "James, I'm not a young man. It's not my responsibility to go after those Russians. You have to. That's why you're here, isn't it?"

There was a slight crease on Bond's brow. He was losing patience "Yes, but there isn't much time." 

"Relax, James!" Reagan exclaimed, slamming his palms onto the desk and scattering the jelly beans "Dang it." He muttered under his breath before scooping the jellybeans from the floor and eating them quickly. "James, you haven't sat down. Look at you. You look _exhausted_. Where are you staying by any chance?"

"I hardly see how this is relevant…"

"Where are you staying?" Reagan repeated, his tone slightly hardened. 

Bond sighed before replying, "The Ambassador Hotel…" 

Reagan laughed "Seriously? There are far nicer places to stay. Why, no wonder you look so tired! You probably didn't get much sleep because of all the traffic outside. Why don't you stay here in the White House with Nancy and me? It'll be plenty cozy. 

"This isn't part of the protocol." Bond warned, looking puzzled as to why the president would suggest such a thing. 

"Screw protocol. You Brits are so fussed about following every rule in the book. You're no longer in the United Kingdom, remember? You're here in the United States of America. So now, you must learn to relax." There was a triumphant smile on his face as he came to a realisation "And what's more, is that you'll have full access to intelligence and you'll be able to report to me anything that happens because we'll be living under the same roof, meaning no Russians would be able to find us! How about that, huh?" The smile was wider now and the president made no effort to hide how pleased he was.

"Very well." Bond responded reluctantly. 

 

Hours later, Bond had regretted agreeing with the president's plan. Rather than being out searching for the Russians, Reagan insisted on having a night in. Wearing hideous checkered pyjamas against his will, Bond was feeling claustrophobic as Reagan's arm hung around his shoulders. 

"Oh boy, this was my best film!" Reagan cried. Kings Row* was on the television and already Bond had very little interest in it. To make matters worse, Reagan kept talking over the film and pointing out whenever his character showed up.  

"See that?!" Reagan exclaimed, pointing at the screen "To do that scene I had to actually meet up with a whole bunch of amputees and doctors. Isn't that just clever? I look like I'm really going through the pain, aren't I?" 

Bond tried to sit up "Mr President, I really need to be heading off to see intelligence…"

"Aw come on James! Don't be such a party pooper." His arm stretched out directly in front of Bond as he reached for another handful of jellybeans. "God, I was such a handsome young guy." He sighed before turning towards the secret agent. "I used to get all the girls. Not that I don't still, but hey I don't look as strapping as that anymore." All of a sudden, he leaned closer "Say, you're a handsome guy. I bet you get all sorts of girls." 

Bond looked slightly surprised. "Really, Mr President? I'm flattered. But it’s getting rather late and-"

"No more rubbish about the god dang Russians!" Reagan scolded, wagging a finger in front of Bond's face "We're going to watch movies, just as we planned!" He inspected his features closer and then, much to Bond's dismay, started tracing over his cheekbones. 

"You're very well-built. Have you thought of being an actor? I can sure see you as one! God. Why are you wasting your good looks on undercover work? You can be an A-lister if you wanted to!" 

Bond laughed awkwardly "Mr President…if you would excuse me, I think I need to have a drink."

"Shaken, not stirred right?" Reagan asked, much to Bond's surprise. He could not recall ever telling him about his drink preference. 

"One shaken martini coming up!" Reagan shouted, standing up and walking towards the bar. At that, Bond quickly walked towards the door and then out before Reagan had the chance to turn around.   


The secret agent walked through the many corridors of the White House, trying to locate where intelligence would be located. He was sure that they were tucked away, not far from the president himself. But where? He ran his hands against the back of the bookshelves, but there were no hinges, which indicated a secret room. Just as he started to inspect the next room, he could hear someone panting. 

Turning around, he spotted Reagan standing there, clutching his chest. His face was red and wet with perspiration. Although he was smiling at Bond, his eyes looked furious. 

"I don't know what you're playing at, but in my house, anything the president says must be followed through!" 

"I don't have time to argue with you, but I need to find intelligence right away." Bond said firmly. As he pressed a hand against one of the books, the shelf flung open to reveal a metal door with a keypad. Yet, there was no way that he could know the secret code.

"Mr President…" Bond continued patiently “Tell me the combination for goodness's sakes. I need to get in." 

Somehow, Reagan's features cleared. "…Look under the jellybean jar. It's there." He answered reluctantly. 

It amazed him how easy the president had given in to him. Quickly, he lifted up the jellybean jar to take a glance. 

But just as his eyes inspected the bottom of the jar, which was completely blank, he felt something hard hit the back of his head. Groaning, he struggled to get up, but was hit against the head again.   
  


Despite fighting to stay conscious, darkness engulfed him. 


	6. Chapter 6

He could feel a hand run against his face. At first, Bond suspected that he had spent another night with a beautiful woman, but the fingers were too calloused and rough to belong to a lady. Groggily, he opened his eyes.

Reagan was smirking at him, his hand still on his face. "Up close, you're really quite handsome."

There was an overwhelming urge to pull away, yet somehow he could not. Sure enough, as he looked down, he realised that he was tied to the bed with some old rope. 

"What do you want with me?!" Bond demanded, "I'm on your side, don't you see? Now let me go!" 

The president laughed, a booming, maniacal laugh that sounded so unlike him. "Aw really James? You're still loyal to mommy Thatcher even after she sent you away? She sent you to me for a good reason too." 

He reached into his suit pocket, producing a remote control and pressed a button. The wall in front of them lowered, revealing a huge screen. It was a map of the world, only, almost all of the continents were red decorated with mini hammers and sickles. 

"You see this? That's what's happened to the world. Everything has been taken over by the Red Scare. And yet you're still trying to fight against them? It's useless. You should have given up long ago. But now that I think of it, maybe you can be useful for something. 

Bond struggled under the rope. "What are you talking about? We're fighting against the Russians, don't you see?" 

Reagan laughed once more "You really are so naive." He edged closer, pausing dramatically to grin once more. His smile was too white in the dimly lit room "…because, why must I fight against a side that I am on?" 

The agent's features froze in terror. No. It was impossible. The Republican president who had a fear of communism had somehow joined the Russians. The radio waves must have affected him sooner than he had anticipated. Much sooner. Bond looked over at his shoes, kicking the heel against the bed. If Q's invention worked, he would be out in no time. 

"I am a communist now, Bond. And I will become the greatest yet. The Red Scare doesn't scare me anymore. No. It's people like you. People who want to stop us. But not this time." He pressed another button on the remote. Gradually the rest of the countries lit up in a blood red. "Once we're done with the United States, we'll take all of Britain's colonies. They'll rebel against their ruler and you'll have to succumb."

"We will never succumb to the likes of you." Bond replied defiantly. 

"Of course you will. If you won't…" The British continent was slowly lighting up in red too "We'll take you over." 

He pressed another button on the remote. An antenna emerged from the top of it and he placed it against his mouth "Bond? Yeah I have him. He's all yours, pal." Reagan added wickedly. 

Almost immediately, three large men with black masks came into the secret room. One roughly grabbed Bond, while the other cut the rope. Then, Bond kicked his heel against the floor, causing a knife to jut out from the leather. Another held a syringe, about to inject him with some sort of clear liquid. But seconds before the needle reached him; he raised his foot, kicking the Russian in the shins. 

There was a slight yelp as he stumbled backwards. The other started throwing punches at him, yet he dodged, landing a punch directly in his jaw. 

"Stop him!" screeched Reagan.

 Bond ran towards the entrance, but the other man stood in his way, throwing more punches. Bond was hit on the shoulder, struggling to match up to the other man's speed. Then, he kicked him directly into the crotch. 

Groaning in pain, the man fell to his knees. But Reagan was still insistent. He grabbed the remote to scream into it once more. 

"He's getting out! Send more of them in here."

 

As Bond fled out of the secret room, more masked Russians had entered the room. But this time, they were armed. One fired a shot at Bond, to which he dodged barely. He checked for a gun in his clothes, but to his dismay, realised that Reagan had removed them. Thinking quickly, he grabbed chair and threw it at the attacker. 

Another fired some more shots, but Bond had ducked under the desk. Bullet holes quickly lined the oak and he knew that he could not hide under it forever. Bravely, he raised a hand and fired a few shots, daring himself to take a glance at the Russians. Despite being wounded, one of them continued to shoot. Rushing to the side, Bond pushed against a bookcase. The shelf tumbled down onto the Russian, books, decorations and all. The other rose up and tried to fire at Bond, but the agent tripped him just in time, causing him to fall again. 

Reagan was watching the whole scene in disbelief. 

"I may have judged you wrong, Mr Bond. Why don't we just stop this racket right now and call it a day." His arms were raised, yet Bond knew that Reagan would not give up so easily. There had to be more. 

The president went over to a jar of jellybeans, holding an open palm towards him. "Come on, James. Have some. It's the least I can do." He was smiling, almost kindly. Inching closer, he held the beans in front of his face "We misunderstood each other. Besides…I need a companion. Please, try one." 

With the beans at close proximity, the aroma from them was unmistakable. He had smelt a scent like this once before…but where? Ah, he remembered now. It was when an enchanting woman tried to get him to drink a martini. The special kind. And that special kind was nothing but a love-potion, which had caused him to do everything for her, despite the fact that she was really siding with the USSR.  

He was not going to be reckless like that again. With a terrific shove, the beans hit against Reagan's face. The president shouted in anger as he chased after the agent. 

"You come back! You're making a terrible mistake!" Reaching deep into the jar he pulled out a few bullets and loaded a gun quickly. "Come back, you idiot! You can run, but you can't hide!"

Bond continued running, trying to get away from the crazed president. Reagan was right. There was nowhere else for him to hide. 

 

Before he was about to figure out what to do next, a sound stopped him in his tracks. It was a cry, a cry of terror. But it was not just anyone's cry. There was something distinctive about it, something which showed that this was someone who was not going to turn for another person's opinion.  

Someone hushed the cry and there was a quick whisper. Russian. His eyes widened as he raced towards the source of the sound. It was just a wall, but Bond knew that it would open to another secret room. He pushed against it, opening up to a door. A dial stood in his way, yet shot at it a few times, refusing to leave it alone. To his relief, the dial blew off, and he was able to get inside without an issue. But nothing prepared him for what he would encounter. 

A woman sat tied to a chair, her eyes wide in terror. Her mouth was taped. On her ears were large headphones, connected to a portable radio. Another masked man stood there, operating the radio. Taking a second look at the woman, his face fell, realising who she really was. 

Margaret Thatcher tried desperately to call out to the agent, struggling under the rope that held her.  _What kind of idiot does he think he is?_ She wondered. _Get away James! Go!  
_

Bond raised the gun towards the man at the radio. "Let her go." He said firmly to the man "You don't really want her. You want me."  

There was a strange laugh from the mask "You think I could just…let her go? Mr Bond…this woman is far more important to us than you are. We are so close to accomplishing the mission. As soon as we brainwash the Prime Minister, there will be no going back from communism. All the dominos will truly fall."

There was a look of worry in Thatcher's eyes. "Mhm!" She cried, shaking her head fiercely as if to free herself from the headphones. 

"Shut up, bitch." The man with the radio said, "Just relax… soon, Britain will be part of the USSR and you'll be fine with it. Listen and learn…" As he said this, he moved his hand towards the radio. 

But in a second, Bond shot at the device, causing the man's fingers to jolt back. The radio was damaged, but there was no telling whether or not this was the only radio responsible. 

The man cursed in Russian but recovered quickly. But Bond was not done with him yet. 

"Let her go." Bond repeated, firmly this time. 

"Or what? You'll take care of her? Mr Bond, you're forgetting something…you were the one who betrayed her in the first place." 

Bond looked puzzled.  

"You really don't remember me?" He asked quizzically. Slowly, he took off the mask.  
  


 Smiling and staring at the secret agent was the waiter from the hotel. 


	7. Chapter 7

He couldn't believe his eyes. This was the man he had least expected to see in the White House, cloaked in black and operating a radio to brainwash Thatcher. 

"You…" Bond began

"You recognise me now, do you?" The waiter smiled. Something in his voice sounded different. It was harsher and more foreign. He had reverted to a Russian accent. "I find it so amusing that a secret agent as _good_ as double-oh-seven had managed to walk directly into my clutches."

"The area was secluded…" Bond continued, trying to make sense of the whole situation. 

"How were you so sure? Even before you had reached the hotel we knew you were there. And of course, with some extra help..."

Bond turned to Thatcher, shooting an accusing glance at her. 

"No, not that bitch. This one…" He smirked. Turning around, he called out "Anastasia...моя любовь!" 

Another figure entered into the room. Nothing was too distinct about it, until Bond noticed the unmistakable blonde strands sticking out from under the mask. The figure removed it, and gave Bond the most malicious lipsticked grin. 

It was the young woman that he was walking with to meet the Queen.  

"Veronica?" Bond asked in surprise.

Thatcher looked slightly relieved at this. For now, she knew what had truly made her uncomfortable about this woman when she first saw her. It was not just jealousy. She was a threat as well.

"She was right under your nose the whole time!" The waiter laughed, "Your Veronica, was really _my_ Anastasia. And as you spent evenings with her, she learnt of all your whereabouts. You were much too slow, Mr Bond." He turned to Anastasia and placed a hand to her face, "Получить ее."

Anastasia strode over to the radio, placing something else into it. Bond could not see what it was from the angle he was standing. 

"Goodbye, Mr Bond. If we can't convert you, at least the new world of Communism would be safe without you and your Prime Minister." The Russian laughed, before pressing a button on a remote much like the one Reagan held. Both Russians left the room, slamming the door behind them. Thatcher and Bond were well and truly locked in. 

 

Immediately, Bond started to untie Thatcher, who was moving around fiercely. "Stay still!" He ordered, removing the masking tape at last.  

"It's a bomb, you idiot!" the politician shouted. "And what the hell were you playing at, disclosing information about your mission to a Russian spy?!" She could not help but feel a little bit jealous about Anastasia, even though she was the enemy. 

Bond ignored her, going over to the radio. Angry red digits were beginning to flash back at him. Counting down. Sure enough, she was right. 

"Remove my left shoe." Bond muttered hurriedly, watching the digits. 

Thatcher's face turned scarlet. "B-bond…I don't know what your intentions are…" she gasped. "I'm a married woman-"

"Take it off now!" Bond yelled urgently. Thatcher immediately complied, grumbling as she did so. She gave it to him, to which he pushed against the heel. The knife shot out again. Placing the tip into the bolt, he twisted, disassembling the cover of the radio. All the wires were in clear view now. Red, blue and green. Bond went to the red wire immediately. 

"Don't you think that's too predictable for those Russians?" Thatcher inquired. Bond was about to continue when she snatched the knife from him. 

With ease, she cut the blue wire. The numbers stopped on the screen. Bond looked at her in astonishment. 

"Well, blue is a conservative colour if you've been paying attention, Mr Bond. It's the last colour they would want to be cut." Thatcher explained condescendingly. She turned to the door. "Now we need to get out of this place."

"I have a better idea." Bond said, turning to the window. Thatcher laughed in disbelief. 

"There is no way a lady like me is going through that." the Prime Minister refused. 

But Bond would not hear it. Throwing the chair through the window, the glass shattered, making a hole big enough for two of them to crawl through. Bond picked Thatcher up and carried her out. 

"Put me down! PUT ME DOWN!" She shrieked. 

"You want me to drop you?" Bond asked with a smirk. He was standing on the ledge, several feet above the ground. Thatcher became silent. But upon looking over, realised that there was a crowd of people watching them. 

"God sakes, Mr Bond! I don't want the press to see me like this!"

"Relax, Margaret. We're out now." The agent smirked.

Several members of the crowd cheered. Thatcher hid her face. 

 


	8. Chapter 8

"A splendid job, Mr Bond. Once again, your mission was a success. You will be awarded a knighthood right away." Although a little shaken up, Thatcher felt better after a bath and a change of clothes. The confidence in her voice was back, but there was some unease in it. Nevertheless, it sounded as though he had regained her trust. He could continue working for headquarters in Britain. 

 

Members of the media still wanted to know who had saved Thatcher from the White House, but both London and Washington stayed silent. The people who were behind the brainwashing scheme were also captured upon fleeing from the White House. Meanwhile, Reagan was undergoing rehabilitation. He was getting better, slowly. But attendants were confused as the president continued to ask where a certain James Bond was. 

Back in Thatcher's office, Bond smiled, leaning back on his chair "Thank you, Prime Minister." he responded smugly. Even the headquarters were pleased. Stiff-faced M could not complain after the agent had saved the Prime Minister…again. 

Just as Thatcher extended a hand to shake his, he took her wrist gently, planting a kiss on the palm. Her hand quivered. 

"And now, I must be off. Farewell, Prime Minister." With a twinkle in his eye, Bond turned and walked out of the office. The secret agent disappeared out into the cold, grey streets of London, possibly either to celebrate his achievements with another attractive woman or back to headquarters.  

A few minutes after Bond had left, Thatcher sighed, looking down on the desk in dismay. She still had no idea how she felt. One moment, she thought she had hated him, but now she felt so grateful…and dare she say it, a little flustered around him.

 

The door swung open, shocking Thatcher. A figure emerged in a suit much like Bond, holding a gun. He strode over to the Prime Minister, taking her hand and kissing her on the palm with more love than before. But it was not Bond. And how glad she was that it wasn't. 

"D-Denis?" Thatcher stammered, her heart racing.  

Mr Thatcher smiled at his wife, his eyes full of understanding. He had looked so dashing in this suit, perhaps even more so than the secret agent. She remembered why she had married him in the first place.  

"I know." He replied, still clasping her hand in his. He held up the gun, allowing Thatcher to inspect it. "Do you like it, my dear? It almost looks like the real thing, only it shoots out water." Thatcher found herself smiling at his boyish excitement. But nothing made her happier than to see Denis safe and sound.  

But as he looked at her properly, his eyes widened and he beamed. "Why, Maggie…" He remarked, threading his fingers into her hair "Your hair…it looks so beautiful like this. You look like Marilyn Monroe." 

Thatcher chuckled, "Oh come here." She sighed, pulling him towards her. It had been forever since they had last seen each other, but she could not ask for more than this. 

 

Although Bond may have not loved her, nothing warmed her heart more than being reunited with her husband once more. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Translation key: (This one is rather short as I am not as familiar with Russian so I have not used as many phrases. I apologise if my translations are wrong.)
> 
> моя любовь: My love
> 
> Получить ее: Get her 
> 
>  
> 
> *Footnotes for historical explanations: 
> 
> “They have been doing this through radio stations”: The idea of the radio waves being used as a method of brainwashing was inspired by James Pratt’s novel Telekom.
> 
> “This lady's not for the turning”: This quote was taken from a famous speech that Thatcher made during the 1981 Conservative Party conference. It was especially memorable as it was a pun. 
> 
> “Quickly, she threw the handkerchief into the bin before reapplying her lipstick in haste”: One can purchase a lipsticked napkin of Margaret Thatcher’s in an auction. Seeing this, I decided to make a backstory from this, that perhaps the Iron Lady was really practicing how to kiss on a napkin. Oddly enough, the napkin was also apparently found in a hotel that Thatcher stayed at. 
> 
> “These bloody socialists seem to think that pennies just fall out of the sky”: This is of course a cruder rendition of a famous quote by Thatcher at the 1979 speech at the Lord Mayor’s banquet. What she really said was “Pennies don’t fall from heaven; they have to be earned here on earth.” 
> 
> “Kings Row”: Before becoming president, Ronald Reagan used to have an acting career, although he was only ever in B-grade movies. One of the films he was in which was rather popular was Kings Row. As mentioned in the fic, Reagan had met with doctors and amputees in order to play as a character that had undergone limb amputation.


End file.
